Twisted Angels
by dancer4ver
Summary: Virtue does not come without a price. Goodness does not hold no consequence. When a gift becomes a burden and a blessing becomes a curse and Heaven seems farther than before. Companion to Seven Sinners but can stand alone. Chapter 7, Austria: Humility
1. Canada: Patience

**A/N: **I was really pleased with how **Seven Sinners** turned out so I decided to continue with the idea, this time using the Seven Heavenly Virtues. I thought this was a nice way to include more characters and for me to continue adjusting to writing Hetalia. O.K. Please enjoy~

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. But I do own this story**

* * *

_Twisted Angels:_

_Canada_

_Patience_

"I call this meeting of the G8 members to order." The other nations ceased their talking to face the speaker at the head of the table.

"I know we've all been busy since the last meeting and that's good. We're on our way to 100% global economic efficiency."

"It's all thanks to you, sir." Italy piped up happily. "That advice you gave me last time really helped me improve a lot of my policies."

Next to him Germany nodded. "Automobile sales have never been better." He said.

"For us as well." Japan added, "If it wasn't for you, I don't know how Toyota would have ever recovered from that brake catastrophe."

"I extend my full congratulations to you, my love." France's silky voices floated from the back of the room. "It seems we are almost at the day we've been waiting for."

Canada flushed from his position at the head of the table. "Thank you, all of you." He cleared his throat. "But there's still much more to do. America!"

America slowly lifted his head off the table. "What?" He said, his voice sulky and bitter.

Canada frowned. "You haven't introduced the economic stimulus package you were supposed to have done by last meeting."

America huffed and leaned back in his chair, legs swing up to rest on the table. "I gave it to my boss. I don't know what he did with it."

"You idiot." England hissed, batting the legs away. "You can't keep acting like this. Of all of us, you are the still the farthest behind. There was a time that Russia could barely hold a candle to you and now his house is in twice as much order as yours." From his seat Russia let out a chilling giggle that made the rest of the G8 members shiver.

"I'm doing just fine!" America protested.

"Actually, you're not." Canada's frown deepened. "Due to your economic instability I have officially drafted a measure regarding the annexation of Michigan to my house. It is effective immediately."

America's jaw dropped. "You can't do that! Those Great Lakes are mine!"

"It's already been done and until you prove you can handle all of your states, I will gradually take them under my control if need be."

"Why you little—" America growled, but was silenced by a steely look from England. He reluctantly settled back into his seat. "Fine. I'll get on that stimulus thing right away. And don't you dare do anything to Mackinac Island. Touch those fudge shops and you'll be sorry."

Canada gave him a smug smile. "I have better things to do than that."

"Yeah, like wake up." America mumbled. Canada froze.

"What was that?" He asked softly.

It was America's turn to be smug. "I said you need to wake up…sir."

Shocked, Canada turned to the other members who were all nodding sadly.

"Sorry sir, but this is all just a dream." Italy said.

"As if _ you_ could ever be a superpower." America sneered, causing England to start laughing.

"That would be the day!" England said. The room was soon filled with laughter and when Canada opened his eyes, the meeting room was dark and empty.

The sound of laughter still ringing in his ears, Canada sighed. They had all left and forgotten about him…again. One of these days he was going to really let them know how he felt. One of these days he was going to march to the front of the table—interrupting whatever idiotic plan America was trying to propose—and demand that they acknowledge him. One of these days…

When _was_ that day? It seemed that he had been waiting for it, silently and calmly, for a long time now.

The door to the meeting room suddenly swung open and Canada started at the stream of light that flooded in.

"Oh, some is still here? Who is that?" The voice was England's. He had left one of his folders behind and was shocked to find the room still occupied. He was sure that he had seen everyone leave.

"It's me." Canada said in his soft voice.

"Who?" The person at the table looked familiar but England couldn't quite put his finger on it. The resemblance to America was slightly disturbing though.

Canada sighed. "Canada. I'm Canada."

"C-Canada?" England sputtered. "What are you still doing here?"

Canada picked up his things and walked slowly to the door, pausing at the head of the table. He a ran a finger over the polished wood and turned back to the confused England.

"Waiting." He said finally.

"For what?" England said, his confusion growing.

Canada shrugged. "I don't know."

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**A/N: **As a resident of Michigan, especially considering I live only about an hour from the American-Canadian border, sometimes I seriously feel part of Canada, haha.

I almost started laughing when I saw the parallel between this chapter and the first one of **Seven Sinners**. Considering that the Heavenly virtues are essentially mirror opposites of the Sins, I really shouldn't be surprised. Anyway let me know what you think. Diligence is next. Let the guessing games begin!

with love

-dancer


	2. Japan: Diligence

**A/N:** This was really hard to write. That's all I'm going to say. Oh and thanks to all the reviewers and those who favorited and put this story on their alerts list. Please enjoy the chapter~

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

* * *

_Twisted Angels:_

_Japan_

_Diligence_

There was time when Japan enjoyed watching the sun rise. The sight of the shimmering disc rising above the land, slowly turning the sky from a pallid gray to a light blue, was as comforting as it was inspiring. It signified the start of a new day, the beginning of new opportunities to rise and to succeed.

But then the day came when Japan could only see the blood red on the burning ball of fire and wanted to do nothing but hide from the scorching heat—hide from the day and whatever misery it would bring.

Still he went, bag in hand, out under the blazing inferno. He forced himself to smile—blistered lips stretching painfully—when the group of children ran by—late for class, but polite enough to call out morning greetings. He stifled a grimace when he bowed to his boss, the sticky, revolting feeling of sweat trickling down his back.

And when all the leaders were in attendance and the floodgates of politics and business were opened, Japan would tug lightly at his collar, wondering if he could dare to ask:

_Is it hot in here?_

The papers were so thin, so simply _flammable_ as Japan took them in his hands, amazed that the edges did not blacken and curl until there was nothing left but ash.

"We have exceeded twice our original estimates, sir." One of his aides said proudly.

"Increase the output. We cannot be satisfied with such meager profits." These papers, how did they not burn when all Japan could feel was heat? Coursing through his veins, drying his skin. He cleared his throat and found it dry.

So dry.

"Double the workforce. Make sure these numbers see nothing but growth."

The aide bowed. "Of course, sir."

The man left, leaving Japan in smoldering idleness.

_I cannot just sit here,_ he thought through the red haze of heat. _The market sales will begin soon. Inventories must be accounted for, prices must be checked, so much to do…_

So he went, still burning, out into the world.

The sun was an inescapable wraith. As long as she hung in the sky, there was no rest for the weary. There was no stop to the constant demand for productivity. The day held him captive and Japan was a most loyal prisoner.

"Will you have your lunch now, sir?"

Japan blinked slowly, barely registering the question, but made a dismissing gesture once he had processed it.

"I don't have time right now. Bring me the most recent stock reports." The aide moved to leave. "Wait." Japan's voice cracked and he struggled to speak even though it felt like sand was filling every corner of his mouth.

"Sir?"

"Is it…is it hot in here?"

The aide blinked, startled by the question. She was new and all the preparations she had conducted the night before—all the efforts to look and act with utmost professionalism—melted as she wrung her hands together nervously, unsure of how to answer.

"Is it?" Japan asked again.

"Sir," the woman said softly, "it's the middle of February and the buildings heat hasn't been working since morning."

Japan was silent and the aide squirmed nervously underneath the blank gaze.

"I see." He said finally. "You may go."

Bowing quickly, the woman fled from the room, shivering, but not from the frigidness of the building.

.

.

.

It was only when the sun sank beneath the horizon, when the final papers were packed into folders and the lights of the last office building snapped off, did the burning stop.

But as Japan watched the first stars twinkle in the inky blackness of the sky, his body cooled by the night breeze, he thought, with sadness and with pain:

_I want to burn_.

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**A/N:** So remember kids, don't work too hard. It will make you crazy XD I was going to do Temperance next, but decided it would be Charity instead. So guess away my lovelies. Also I would advise you guys to look up what charity means because it's more than just giving away money. Yay for hints~

with love

-dancer


	3. Spain: Charity

**A/N: **Spain is my favorite character so I'm not surprised that his chapter is the longest I've written so far. I **love** him. Please enjoy the chapter~

I should probably also mention that Charity means not just simply giving away money, but unlimited, loving kindness. So that should make the chapter easier to understand :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Just this story.**

* * *

_Twisted Angels:_

_Spain_

_Charity  
_

"Two of the usual for us and I'll cover the tab for the ladies at the end of the bar."

The bartender grinned, displaying a neat row of yellowed teeth. "You got it, Antonio. Those are some lucky women." He said before moving away to get the drinks.

"Spain, you idiot." Romano hissed angrily after the man had left, "What the fuck was that for?"

Spain smiled and shrugged. "It seemed like a nice thing to do. And look how happy they are." The two women had received their drinks along with the information regarding their bill. They both turned to Spain and Romano, sultry grins sliding into place.

"Who gives a fuck about their happiness?" Romano snapped. "Shit, they're coming over here. Damn you Spain."

"Thanks for the drinks boys." One of the women said. She twirled a strand of copper colored hair around a perfectly manicured finger. "Are you looking for a little company tonight?"

Spain opened his mouth, but Romano got there first.

"No, but I am looking for a way to get you two out of my fucking face." He sneered. Next to him Spain groaned, slumping over in embarrassment.

"Please don't do this tonight, Romano." He said softly.

"Excuse me?" The red head drew out the words to an annoying length, her and her blond companion looking equally offended.

Usually it was the men that approached them in situations such as this that infuriated Romano the most, but it was something about these women that rubbed him the wrong way. Too much leather and lipstick.

"Did I stutter? I think not. Now fuck off." With a huff, both women spun on their heels, the blond turning back long enough to flash her middle finger. Romano returned the gesture with gusto.

Spain sighed as the women chose the table farthest from the bar. "Why'd you have to go and do that Romano? All they wanted was a little company. Would it have been that horrible to talk to them?"

"They didn't just want to talk you idiot. I don't know why I even let you bring me to out to this place. It would have been so much easier to stay home." Head in hands, Romano sulked angrily, refusing to meet Spain's gaze.

"Aw Romano," Spain cooed, "You know how cute you are when you're angry. My sweet little tomato—"

"Shut up you bastard!" Romano screeched, swatting away the fingers that were poised to pinch his face. "And don't touch me!" But before his fist could fly, the bartender finally arrived with the drinks, which settled Romano down considerably.

"I just don't understand why you have to be so nice to everyone all the time." He said, eyes fixed on the glass in hand. _And even with all the shit I give you, all you ever do is smile…_

Spain lowered his glass and thought for a second. Then he smiled that ridiculous smile that made Romano want to simultaneously punch him in the face and kiss him until they were both gasping for breath.

"If you're nice to people," Spain said finally, "they'll be nice to you in return."

Romano snorted, taking a sip of his drink. "That sounds like something you'd read off a fortune cookie."

"Really?" Spain's face lit up happily, "Because I just made that up now."

Romano groaned and started to fling back an insult but was stopped by an audible grunt from directly behind him. Irritated that he had been interrupted, he turned to the source of the noise, ready to release a verbal onslaught, but the curses died on his lips when he saw the large, muscled man glaring down at him, flanked by two equally intimidating men.

"You boys are in our seats." The lead man sneered. "And I suggest you move."

Romano smirked, overconfident that Spain's presence ensured his safety. "I don't see shithead written on them so maybe you should look somewhere else." He barely held back a shriek as the man who seemed to be the leader of the group grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him cleanly off the bar stool.

"You little fucker." The man hissed. "Say that again and I'll smash in that pretty face of yours."

Spain was on his feet in an instant, palms raised in a sign of peace. "No need to get physical guys. If you want the seats they're yours."

Ceasing his struggle to remove himself from the man's grip, Romano turned angrily to Spain, his face bright red.

"What the fuck? You can't just give in like that!" He gasped as the man released him, dropping to the floor with a loud thud.

"Listen to your boyfriend, shithead. Now move the fuck along." The lead man said before pushing his way through to occupy the bar stool. His companions followed suit.

Spain leaned over to offer a hand to Romano, who still lay on the floor, nursing his pride and searching for any visible bruising. "It's no big deal. There are empty tables in the back."

"Screw you, asshole!" Romano stood up angrily, ignoring the outstretched hand. He stomped towards the door, slamming it shut loud enough behind him that the other occupants of the bar—who had purposely avoided involving themselves in the confrontation—winced.

Spain sighed and reached into his pants pocket to fumble for his wallet. For once he wished he could enjoy a drama free night.

"Hey Jack, you take credit cards right? I don't have any cash on me tonight." He said after an unsuccessful search for paper bills.

"For you? Of course." The bartender took the card, pausing on his way to the register to grudgingly take the orders of the men who had occupied Spain and Romano's seats.

The one who had threatened Romano stood up after he had ordered, shooting Spain a smug looking before heading towards the bathroom.

Spain counted to 10 before turning to the bartender. "Hold on with that receipt. I'll be right back."

The man was washing his hands when Spain stepped quietly into the bathroom. Their eyes met briefly in the mirror—his confused, Spain's dark—before the man's head connected with the glass. Sputtering from shock and pain he barely had a chance to scream before his face met the glass again. The man's brain faintly registered the feeling of his hair being fiercely yanked back before his face smashed into the mirror for a third time. Releasing his grip, Spain let the man fall to the floor. There were pieces of glass coating and embedded in the man's face and it was difficult to tell which wound was dripping with the most blood.

And that was only the most obvious of the damage.

His face a mask of calm, Spain slowly reached out and even through the haze of blood and pain, the man still flinched. But Spain only smoothed out the collar of the now bloodstained shirt before saying stoically, "You should be more loving to people." He stood, leaving the man to bleed on the floor, retrieved his card and receipt from the bartender and stepped outside into the cool evening, not surprised to find Romano sitting on a nearby bench.

"What the fuck took you so long?" Romano leaped up from his seat. "Do you know how tiring it is to wait?"

Spain gave him a sheepish grin, stuffing his hands into his pockets to hide the bloodstains. "Sorry Romano. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"Fuck you." Romano snarled. "Let's go home."

_He's so cute when he's angry_, Spain thought happily as they started walking on the street that would take them home. He paused as he noticed an obviously homeless man out of the corner of his eye, dirty hands holding a cardboard sign that simply said: Please help.

Ignoring Romano's angry protests, Spain pulled out of his pocket five wrinkled 20's that _somehow_ he hadn't noticed before and dropped them into the shallow box of coins at the man's feet.

The beggar gasped at the amount and looked up at Spain with grateful eyes. "Thank you so much sir."

Spain smiled widely. "It's no problem at all."

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**A/N: **As usual, let me know what you guys think. Feedback is always loved. Temperance is next~

with love

-dancer


	4. Germany: Temperance

**A/N: Temperance** is generally defined (according to Wikipedia at least) as control over excess. It has many other sub-categories, but I decided to go with this definition alone. Thanks again to all the reviewers and such. Enjoy the chapter~

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, just this story.**

**

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**

_Twisted Angels:_

_Germany_

_Temperance  
_

"_I'm a liar."_ Germany thought, the words sounding as jumbled and incoherent in his mind as they would have if he had spoken them aloud.

The bottle in his hand was barely visible through his blurred vision, the only reason he knew it was still there was because of the seducing smell of beer drifting off the rim.

No. Liar wasn't enough. That was only one side.

"_I'm a hypocrite."_ Yes. That was the whole picture.

.

.

.

"How come every time I come back here it looks like a dinner party gone horribly wrong?" Germany asked as he wiped the last smear of sauce off the kitchen counter. He frowned at his reflection in the now glittering black marble before looking up at Italy, the question still hanging in the air.

Italy smiled sheepishly, his hair curl bouncing as he tried his best to look innocent. "I get hungry when you leave." It was a ridiculous answer, but Germany had heard it so many times that he was starting to believe it.

"Can't you at least exert some self control when you eat? Peeling noodles off the kitchen floor every day isn't exactly something I enjoy doing."

Italy pouted. "Maybe if you weren't always so busy and didn't leave all the time…"

Germany sighed. It was always the same thing over and over; a never ending cycle of messiness. "I don't want to talk about this again. Not today. Let's go to bed."

.

.

.

"How do you stop someone from eating too much?"

Asking advice was not something Germany enjoyed doing, especially when the person he was asking was _Austria_. But it was him or Prussia and…

No. It had to be Austria.

"Instruct them in proper culinary etiquette." Austria said over the rim of his teacup.

Germany shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"Then this concerns Italy I assume?"

"Who else?"

"In that case, besides dead bolting your fridge, I have no other advice appropriate for this situation."

Germany scowled as Austria set down his teacup and headed for the kitchen. "Why do I even waste my time asking you for help?" He said.

"I don't know…would you like some cake?"

"You eat too much cake."

"Is that a no?"

"Yes."

.

.

.

So…it had come down to this.

Prussia laughed loudly, causing everyone within a 10 foot radius—particularly Germany—to wince.

"I knew you would eventually come running to me West!"

Humiliation and extreme regret. That was what Germany felt as he sat rigidly across from his brother.

"So here's my awesome plan—" Prussia began.

Germany quickly cut him off. "No. No plans."

"Then how about—"

"No weapons."

"What about—"

"No handcuffs."

Prussia exhaled noisily and crossed his arms. "Well if you don't want to go with any of my plans, then why are you even here? I'm very busy you know."

Germany narrowed his eyes. "What could _you_ possibly be busy with?"

Ignoring the sting of the remark, Prussia only smirked. "Not with _what_, West. With _who_."

"…"

"…"

"You have too much sex."

.

.

.

Talking to his brother always gave him a headache and Germany barely thought twice as he reached into the fridge, the cool beer bottle the first thing his hand grasped.

He had returned once more to find the kitchen in ruins, the leftovers of Italy's "dinner" scattered across the counters and table top.

With a sigh, Germany pushed aside the plates of what might have once been linguine but was now an unidentifiable combination of red and white paste.

The cap of the bottle came off too easily. A simply twist and the only sound that filled the kitchen was the hiss of escaping air.

In the end, one bottle became eight and Germany fell asleep on the table, knowing nothing more until the morning when Italy's sing-song voice jolted him awake, the only thing he could recall being the two words from the past night, flashing in his head.

_Liar, liar, liar._

…_hypocrite._

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**A/N:** As usual, feedback of all sorts is loved. Kindness is next. Guesses?

with love

-dancer


	5. Lithuania: Kindness

**A/N: **This was a surprisingly easy chapter to write. I've just been too busy and lazy to do so. School is starting again soon and I have a new Hetalia fic that I'm starting to write, so the final chapters may not come as fast as they would usually. Sorry! I'll do my best. Please enjoy the chapter~

Also I was in a bit of a hurry to post this. Forgive me for any grammar mistakes. Also, here are the qualities of **Kindness** (according to Wiki): Goodness, charitable behavior, mild disposition, tenderness and concern for others.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. But you should know this by now.**

* * *

_Twisted Angels:_

_Lithuania_

_Kindness  
_

On his first date with Belarus she broke all of his fingers. After an exhausting effort and he was finally able to get her to agree to go out with him again, she not only dislocated both his shoulders but successfully broke his nose as well. Lithuania was left grasping for napkins on the table to stop the stream of blood that gushed from the broken nose—quite difficult considering his dislocated shoulders—as Belarus left the restaurant without so much as a backwards glance.

"I don't get why you, like, put up with all the shit she gives you." Poland said later that evening as he attempted to put Lithuania's shoulders back in place. "You should totally stand up for yourself; show her whose boss."

Lithuania winced as Poland's obviously inexperienced fingers roughly prodded his shoulders. He gasped at the sudden flash of pain as Poland the took left one and twisted it _hard_.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" He managed to say through clenched teeth.

"Like, duh. I've done this plenty of times."

"On who?"

"Doesn't matter, you're, like, avoiding the question. Why don't you give Belarus a piece of your mind?"

Lithuania sighed—his shoulders would have slumped if they could—trying to ignore the pain as Poland went back to work. "I don't want to hurt her feelings."

Poland snorted as he gave up on the left shoulder and moved to the right one. "Dude, she dislocated your shoulders and broke your nose. I don't think she cares about hurting you."

"I know she's a sweet girl. Look how caring she is of Russia—ouch! Don't pull on them! They're already out of their sockets!"

"I wouldn't exactly call that 'caring'." Poland said.

"But the feelings are definitely there. I'm sure in time she could come to see me as she sees him." Lithuania smiled happily as he imagined Belarus running up to him—her platinum blond hair fluttering around her, eyes bright—and telling him that she finally understood that he was the right one for her. This joyous daydream was interrupted as Poland decided to try and kill two birds with one stone and twisted both shoulders at once.

"This is, like, totally harder than it looks." Poland said frowning. When Lithuania didn't answer he glanced down to find that he had passed out from the pain.

"That is totally not cool dude, avoiding the issue like that." He shook his head disapprovingly before going off to find Estonia.

In the end, it was Latvia—who after years in the private (and terrifying) company of Russia—who possessed the necessary skills to return Lithuania's shoulders to their original condition. It would take a few days for the swelling of his nose to subside though.

"So we were, like, totally discussing your inability to tell Belarus to shove it when you passed out on me." Lithuania, who was lying on an overstuffed couch from across the room, nursing his still tender shoulders, only sighed in response.

"If you don't say something, she's just going to, like, keep walking all over you. Just like Russia—"

"This is different from Russia! Don't bring him up!" Lithuania snapped, sitting up so suddenly that Poland almost thought his shoulders would pop out again. Breathing heavily, Lithuania lowered himself back onto the couch. "Sorry, I just meant that Belarus is nothing like Russia."

"Really?" Poland said, ignoring the outburst. "Because they both seem pretty freaky to me."

"That's only because she's spent so much time with Russia. You know what he does to people…what he did to me. What if he hurt her?" Without thinking, Lithuania found the familiar scars on his back. They ceased to ache anymore, but they would never fade.

"I don't think _he_ would be the one to do anything to _her_. More like the other way around." Poland said cynically.

"How can you say that?" Lithuania looked scandalized. Or maybe it was just the pain medication starting to take effect. "I believe in Belarus. She wouldn't do anything like that."

Poland sighed at his friend's inability to see the truth of the matter. "You're, like, too good for her Liet."

"No." Lithuania said, looking up at the ceiling, his eyelids drooping slowly. "Not good enough."

A third date seemed like heaven sent to Lithuania who believed it was a sign that Belarus was finally beginning to see him in a new light.

"I know she's a good person. I'll take care of her. I won't be like Russia." He thought to himself as she busied herself with shattering his kneecaps.

"Kindness is rewarded with kindness."

_Right?_

* * *

**A/N:** Poor Liet. He's such a sweetie. Anyway, Chastity is up next. Guesses?

Review, favorite, whatever. I love you guys no matter what.

with love

-dancer


	6. Finland: Chastity

**A/N:** I've been in a writing slump and I haven't had much time to update anyway because of school. So sorry this is so late! Please enjoy~

Oh and for all those who guessed Austria? Fffff hell no. In my mind he and Hungary get it on every night XD

And for "Why Finland?", because fandom makes him a super uke and I thought "let's turn that on its head".

And I could not for the sake of my sanity use Sweden's grunting speech. I just couldn't do it. If you're so offended by his use of full words, then grunt them to yourself~

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

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_Twisted Angels_

_Finland:_

_Chastity  
_

It had become something that he couldn't escape.

At first, it had been a simple annoyance—a social tic to wrinkle your nose at in displeasure as you kept to your own way—something he could ignore. And then suddenly, it was as if someone had released the trigger of a starting gun, giving the clear go ahead to the behavior in a puff of black smoke.

White just didn't seem appropriate in the context of the situation

The word "lunch break" ceased to hold its intended meaning whenever the nations converged at the much dreaded World Conferences. The appetite was not for sandwiches or coffee. Pasta bowls were left untouched and tomatoes bruised as they fell unheeded to the floor.

The rumbling that echoed throughout the room was not from empty stomachs but from anticipation as countless eyes watched the clock until the hour hand slid into place and the real competition could begin.

It was not one that dealt with policies or misplaced troops in a foreign country, but instead simply _space. _

The most coveted location of course was the meeting room; non-verbal messages passing around the table as each pair tried to stake their claim. Sometimes, it was something as simple as a dropped pencil that announced the winner. Once, England had dumped his whole cup of tea onto the table, _not even trying to make it look like an accident,_ only asking loudly—triumphantly—that America "stay behind" and "help him clean up."

For the losers, it was dash for the next empty room. When those were no longer available, the nearest closet; any semi-private location where they could spend the next half hour lost in a haze of need and lust. Finland ceased to walk down the halls during this time after hearing on too often of an occasion a barely stifled moan or a pleading voice that came out in broken gasps.

When the 30 minutes had ended, they all returned to their designated seats; some noticeably more relaxed than before, others fidgeting as if they could not bear to wait until the conclusion of the days discussion so that they could tumble back onto their beds. Or maybe in the back seats of their cars, or—for the more impatient ones—onto the floor of the most vacant room they could find. Either way, no matter where they tumbled, it all came down to pure, unrestrained _sex._

"_I'm better than them"_ Finland thought as he casually scanned the room, aware of the exchanged looks, the subtle gestures, the frantic tapping of a pen against the hardwood table.

He could not hold back the feelings of pity that mixed in with those of revulsion. He pitied them because they did not have what he had—something stable, something pure and untainted by desire.

Because he had Su-san and Su-san would not tempt him.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk." Finland looked up in surprise as Sweden stood up from the bench. They had been quickly ushered out of the meeting room at the beginning of the "lunch" hour and had sought out the only place that was sure to be unoccupied: the vending machine room.

"Are you sure Su-san, but…you know. "

Sweden shrugged. "It doesn't really bother me. I just need to stretch my legs." He paused before asking "Would you like to come along?"

The tone of the question was even—no hidden intent lurking beneath the surface—and when Finland looked into those blue eyes, there was nothing there to suggest that Sweden wanted to do anything except go for a walk.

Outwardly, Finland smiled. "That's OK Su-san. I'll just stay here." He said.

Inwardly, he screamed in frustration. _"All you need to do is ask."_ He thought as he tried to hold back the tremors that threatened to shake him to his very core.

"Are you sure?"

Finland nodded. "Yes, I'll see you back at the meeting room. "

"_Please just ask_."

"OK." Sweden turned to leave.

Still smiling, Finland gave him a small wave.

"_And I won't say no."_

* * *

**A/N: **Humility is next. You can guess, but I doubt anyone will get it.

with love

-dancer


	7. Austria: Humility

**A/N:** Sorry that this took _forever_. I've been extremely busy with work and had the worst writers block ever. I had to fight to wrap this thing up. Please enjoy the last chapter!

Also, you have to be a little familiar with Austria's history to understand some parts of the chapter. There are historical notes at the end of the chapter :)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

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_Twisted Angels:_

_Austria_

_Humility_

"Do you do anything except play the piano? I swear, every time I come over you're slobbering all over that thing…" Prussia commented loudly from his seat on the couch.

Austria didn't quite understand how he kept sneaking in. Hungary had changed the locks 4 times now. He didn't bother asking because Prussia would only attribute it to his "awesomeness". Austria wouldn't mind placing a bet that there was a window somewhere in the attic that was broken.

There were always a number of options to choose from when it came to dealing with his annoying neighbor. Most of the time, Austria simply ignored him, tuning out the shrill voice in his ear and focusing instead on the notes that became chords that became perfectly constructed concertos.

On good days, Prussia would wander off to spend his endless amounts of time pestering his brother to authorize the formation of a new Prussian state or engaging in lewd behavior with whoever he was currently involved with.

The final option was Hungary. However, due to the destruction that usually accompanied her disposal of Prussia, Austria had labeled her "Emergency Plan D"—when desperate times called for _desperate_ measures.

Austria did not doubt that Hungary would rush to his aide, battle equipped with her deadly frying pan, if he called her every time Prussia decided to focus his sights on him.

But he didn't.

Because it was not his place. So he let Prussia stay.

He had no right to tell him to go.

"I'll play you a story." Austria said, surprising himself and Prussia, who—after barely a moment's hesitation—eagerly slid onto the bench, very pleased with himself that Austria had, for once, acknowledged his presence.

"Stupid aristocrat." He sneered as he ran a filthy hand over the row of keys, the jumbled clash of sound causing Austria to wince.

"You can't _play_ a story."

"And you don't understand the complexities of music and the multiple outlets of expression it has." Austria said as he batted Prussia's fingers away.

"It still doesn't make sense."

"Neither does your continued existence. Now _listen_."

The first note rang out clear and true as Austria's fingers descended onto the keys. Even in his anger at the low blow comment and his own disbelief in the abilities of music, Prussia couldn't miss the distinct difference in the formation of the sound as it echoed throughout the room, leaving a single line hanging in the air as it began to fade.

_There once was man…_

Austria never spoke, his face was a mask of concentration, his lips sealed.

_Who thought himself higher than a king_…

Notes became sentences as they played out the story that formed itself by the unspeakable force that could only be described as Austria's will in Prussia's mind.

_And so he conquered and grew strong…_

The music grew louder and more powerful, sketching out the images of triumphant battles with harsh accents signifying the furious clash of swords. Then there was victory and celebration, played with a light, cheerful tune that illustrated dancing feet and rustling skirts twirled by a late summer breeze.

_Until time passed and his power was lost and his enemies gathered at his doorstep_…

Fun and frivolous became somber and slow, each heavy _thunk_ of the keys a broken heart, a broken blade, and a broken might. It almost seemed to Prussia that the music was speaking directly to him as it grew darker, the melancholy melody broken only briefly by a fledgling of hope.

_And it was only with her aide that he survived the day…_

Rhythm and style suddenly changed. Classical became modern and the story shifted through time, the music playing every decade, every century.

_And when all was done and the dead were buried, a new age began and twice the man released evil into the world. _

_The first came after a shot heard around the world…_

Prussia jerked slightly, the sudden crash of the notes a perfect imitation of a bullet being released into the world, utter destruction being its only intended target.

_The second, with the birth of a monster…_

A sickening mixture of hate and self-loathing dripped off the keys as Austria, his fingers white as bone, played the history of a man who had lost his self worth.

_When he saw what he had done, the man went into his house and shut the door…_

The end was no conclusion as the final note hung in the air long after Austria's fingers had left the piano.

_And he never came out._

Silence hung heavily in the room, almost deafening until Prussia stood up from his seat on the bench and walked towards the archway that would lead to the hallway that would lead to the door to the outside. He paused, one hand clutching the wooden walls, the feeling of something solid soothing to his addled mind.

"It wasn't your fault." Prussia said softly. He didn't wait for an answer, but heard it nonetheless as he made his way out.

The last notes of the piece as it told of an end that haunted him even after he shut the door behind him.

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_Historical Notes_

_- _The "shot heard around the world" refers to the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand who was the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. It was his death that propelled Austria and its allies to declare war and was technically what started WWI (it was at least a short term cause)

-The "birth of a monster" should be pretty obvious, but for those that don't know, Hitler was Austrian, not German.

I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story and **Seven Sinners**. It was a great run! THANK YOU!

-with love

dancer


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